


Terse

by lonelydriver



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: M/M, Miracle Mask, Miracle Mask Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelydriver/pseuds/lonelydriver
Summary: During his stay at Monte d'Or, Layton receives a letter from Henry inviting him to the Reunion Inn. There, the two address the long unanswered past between them.
Relationships: Hershel Layton/Henry Ledore, Randall Ascot/Henry Ledore, Randall Ascot/Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot/Hershel Layton/Henry Ledore
Kudos: 8





	Terse

Layton discovered the summons wedged politely between the door and its frame, complete with a scarlet wax seal pressed with the letter ‘L’. He took it placidly into his coat as he entered the room, despite Luke’s insistence that he open it that instant.

“Who’s it from, Professor!?” Luke’s enthusiasm followed Layton all the way to the armchair at the end of the room. “The masked gentleman, I bet! He must be feeling scared, sending us a letter instead of saying whatever it is he’s got to say face-to-face.”

“Patience, Luke,” Layton’s top hat came to rest on the nearby tea table, with the letter reappearing beside it after a moment to card through his chestnut hair. The delicate seal was met with his fingernail, and broken under the moonlight over Monte dO’r . The moon itself was  trance-like and elusive, a dirge against the city’s neon glow. Lonely, Layton thought, like an unwelcome guest at a costume ball, bereft of both its stars and its distinction. It felt different from Stansbury’s moon. He wished quietly that it was as he creased the envelope over itself and withdrew its contents.

The letter was penned by hand, in an elaborate, spiraling script that Layton immediately recognized as Henry’s handwriting:

* * *

_ Hershel, _

_ Should you find the time amidst your investigation, I humbly request your presence at the Ruby Suite of the Reunion Inn in a day’s time. Moreover, I must ask that you come alone. I hope that’s not too much trouble. _

_ Henry Ledore _

* * *

“Alone?” Luke lamented, falling back onto the bed in dismay. “That sounds awfully shady to me. What if it’s a trap!?”

“This is certainly Henry’s penmanship,” Layton held the letter closer to the lamp to get a better impression of the ink, a deep navy that could nearly be mistaken for black. “Though it is peculiar that he wishes to meet at the inn and not at his residence. I’ll certainly be cautious.”

“Are you sure I can’t come with you, professor?” Sitting up, Luke glanced over to the door, and lowered his voice. “Emmy doesn’t have to know, and I could just wait in the lobby! Pleeease?”

“Now, Luke, a true gentleman would never disrespect his friend’s wishes after he was kind enough to put them in writing, and he’d certainly never lie to a lady,” the professor’s tone was unequivocally stern, yet polite in a way that only he could manage. 

“Well, alright,” Luke sighed but accepted his defeat, hopping off of the bed and bundling his rabbit, Kisses, into his arms. “I’ll teach you how to hand walk, then! Let’s go ask Pascal if he has anything we can use as obstacles! You’ll be ready for the circus in no time!”

“Be careful,” Layton insisted, but Luke was already bounding down the hall to bother the Dromedary’s proprietor. His attention inevitably returned to the letter, instilling him with a lingering sense of unease that would follow him well into the next evening when he and Henry were arranged to meet.

The walk to the tram felt longer than usual. Layton proceeded briskly down Chance Avenue and past the casino, to Pumpkin Park. He’d only been in Monte d’Or for a few days, and yet he’d already begun to grow weary of the city and its extravagance. He was not enticed by the flashing lights and oversaturated hues that obscured his dear moon, and could only think of home as he flashed his ticket to the conductor and boarded the tram.

Somehow, though, the Reunion Inn felt different. On the outskirts of the city, its architecture felt more genuine, erected without the intention of luring in revenue. Its impulsive design rendered it a perpetual work-in-progress, a palace unfurling endlessly toward the sky in search of something perhaps unattainable. 

Inside, Layton made his way to the front desk and introduced himself to the smartly dressed receptionist with a tip of his hat. “Good evening, my name is Hershel Layton. Henry Ledore asked me to meet him here, in the Ruby Suite. I brought his correspondence should you need to verify this.”

“No need,” the receptionist smiled. “Mr. Ledore spoke with me upon his arrival an hour ago. He should be waiting for you on the fortieth floor, just before the Emerald and Sapphire Suites, all of which are at the end of the east wing. One of our assistants would be happy to escort you there if you’d prefer.”

“That’s quite alright, thank you for your help.”

Layton had long lost count of what floor he was on as he ascended the stairwell. He stopped frequently to look out over the water which surrounded the inn, its depth intangible. How must it feel to fall that far, a distance surely at which water would forsake its own properties to take on those of asphalt? Had the depths of the Azran been that deep?

Floor forty couldn’t come sooner. Heeding the receptionist’s instructions, Layton proceeded down the east wing until met with a door emblazoned with a red insignia, under which ‘Ruby Suite’ was inscribed on a golden plaque. He brought his fist to it gently, knocking one, two, three times before his arm fell at his side. He heard someone shift inside, and the door opened moments after.

“Hershel.”

“Henry.”

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Henry’s grey-blue gaze settled just above Layton’s, eerily distant. “I lament that I could not invite you in person, but I’m afraid this Masked Gentleman business has left me overextended. That being said… please, come in, and allow me,” he gestured for Layton’s trunk, an offering the gentleman hesitantly accepted. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Layton chose the couch nearest the door, crossing his legs at the ankle as he sank into the faintly patterned upholstery. With nothing to occupy his hands with, his fingers took to folds in his coat as he anticipated a reply. Henry’s back was turned to the gesture as he stowed Layton’s trunk in the wardrobe adjacent to his own seat.

“I sent for tea,” he began, leaving Layton to wonder if he’d heard him or not. Floating onto the cushion, his posture was diligent beyond compare. He carried with him the composure of a falcon, uncompromising and astute. “It should be up shortly.” 

“Why, thank you, Henry,” Layton remained cordial, and decided not to repeat his inquiry. The window became another point of solace, a place to stow his eyes, to formulate some uninspired comment to fill the space between them as the purpose for this arrangement eluded him still. “It’s a lovely night out. The walk to the station was particularly pleasant, and the ride itself was equally serene.”

“Hershel,” the brusque interjection stole his attention away from the window, surprised to find that Henry’s demeanor had completely transformed in the brief time he’d spent transfixed upon the pane. Both of his hands were balled firmly in his lap, pushing desperately into his thighs. His striped pants did well to obscure the movement, but Layton was keen enough to pick up on the faint tremble in his right leg. A lifetime passed between them before Henry spoke again, no greater than a whisper. “What was Master Randall to you?”

The weight of that question and the eighteen years it’d gone unasked bore so suddenly and so severely on Layton that he found himself speechless in its wake. 

“Why?” In a single syllable, his anguish was apparent as fervently as Henry’s. “After all this time… Why now?”

“I would’ve sooner, but you left before I could ask.”

“No, you took my leaving as an answer,” Layton qualified him sharply, and rose. “I understand exactly what you think of me and the decision I made, Henry. And I understand that Angela shares your sentiment, so if you’ll excuse me--”

  
  
“Please understand that I’m trying to change that,” his voice rose to a crescendo, barely persuading Layton back into his seat. “...I was unfair to you, and I’m sorry. I was hoping I could avoid addressing our past, but that was foolish of me. It’s true. I resented you for leaving, but I resented you even more for coming back because I realized that I was wrong about you. I’m ashamed, Hershel. I don’t deserve to ask for your forgiveness, so I won’t. I just want to know.”

The room obscured itself momentarily against Henry’s plea, replaced by the memory of Stansbury that day, tragically easy for either of them to recall. How Hershel, alone, had appeared against the sunset, his shoulders sunken and his spirit broken as he stilled just beyond the town’s directory. Angela was not present in this recollection, and through her absence Layton could see Henry’s disbelief, a wretched denial which had blossomed the moment Layton’s features suggested otherwise.

“Randall was everything to me,” reality delivered both of them back to the Ruby Suite, though Layton’s voice belonged to the past. “Sometimes it felt like he knew me better than I knew myself, but every time I felt that way I denied him the satisfaction of knowing it. He knew that, though, and it wasn’t the satisfaction he was after. I remember looking at him and often feeling like I shouldn’t be, like his presence was too sacred for this world, or at least for me. When he…” he paused to dispel the tears in his eyes, and drew a labored, shaky breath. “When he fell, that thought consumed me. The guilt was unbearable. I’d known better, but I was so in love with him that I couldn’t imagine leaving him on my own accord. Someone, something would have to take him from me, I thought, and it did. If I hadn’t gone with him, if I’d left sooner… he’d still be here. Like you, I wanted to believe that he was alive, I still do, but if he is… I... I shouldn’t be. Or it’ll happen again.”

“But you came back,”

“Because I’m still in love with him,” his shoulders finally gave into his sorrow, and he began to sob behind the brim of his top hat. “That hasn’t changed. Leaving felt like the right thing to do, so I did, but I haven’t learned my lesson. I can’t leave him, Henry. I can’t.”

There was a knock at the door, but Henry dismissed it with a resounding “Not right now”. He stood with similar zeal to reach Layton, sitting beside him and pulling him into a firm embrace. His hat tumbled aside as he buried himself in Henry’s blue blazer, but Henry was quick to catch it and set it atop one of the decorative pillows before returning to him. 

“It’s not your fault,” Henry reassured him softly, his hand gliding up and down his back at a familiar pace. “He will come back to us, I swear to you, Hershel. And I want you to be here when he does. I’m glad you came back.”

“You’re in love with him too, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Henry answered honestly, musing through the hair behind Layton’s ears. “But that doesn’t excuse the coldness I’ve shown you. I’m sorry it took me so long to do this. Master Randall cared so deeply for you, and you’re no different from the rest of the legacy I intend to preserve for him.” 

“He… told you about me?” 

“He did. I could tell just by the way he looked at you, but yes,” Layton lifted his face partially out of his blazer, stained with an abstraction of tears. Henry had begun to tear up, as well. “He’d say: ‘Hershel has so much heart, you know that, Hen? He’s fantastic, brilliant, even! I wish you two could speak more, but you know how my father is. Oh well, eventually we’ll have a place of our own and we can do whatever we want! Being a famous archaeologist will speed that up, I’m sure of it!’ and I’d say: ‘That sounds splendid, Master Randall.’”

“That does sound like something he’d say,” a watery smile crossed Layton’s face as Randall’s voice filled his mind alongside the steady rhythm of Henry’s heartbeat. “He told me about you, too. He’d say: ‘Sometimes it feels like Henry’s the only person that gets me. It’s a pity he couldn’t come with us, I actually think you two would be fast friends. He’s… lovely.’ and I’d say: ‘I don’t doubt it, Randall.’” 

Henry closed his eyes as Layton spoke, the image of Randall greeting him as it had since he’d left, reciting every word in tandem with Layton’s timbre. He could not bring himself to part with the visage of his lost love, but asked of the man in his arms softly: “Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Layton assured him. “Truly, we’ve only just met. I think Randall will be pleased to know that we were fast friends, after all. And with a place all to himself, no doubt.” 

Together, their mutual grief had combined to look a lot like hope, outlined by the sparse moonlight that slipped through the red velvet curtains of the Ruby Suite. A moon that didn’t seem so lonely, now, reflected in water that didn’t seem so deep.

With the last of his energy, Layton shifted his head into Henry’s lap, and closed his eyes, where Randall was waiting for him, too. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
